Ulysses in New York
by Athena Catriona
Summary: What if Neil had made another decision the night of the play? What if life outside of Hellton is harder than he thought?
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: This is my first Dead Poet's Society story, so be gentle. I'm not sure how it'll go, but I thought I'd get it out there and see if this is worth pursuing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dead Poet's Society (shock) but I do own other characters/situations which will be introduced; please don't use them without permission.

Ulysses in New York

_"Come, my friends,  
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world."_

_--Alfred Tennyson_

Technically, this was not the road less traveled by. _Probably the most traveled by, if you think about it,_ Neil thought as he watched the frosted New England landscape slide by. After all, what kind of road less traveled by would include a bus full of people at six o'clock in the morning? Three men in business suits crinkled their newspapers as they turned pages. A young mother kept rubbing her knee, where there was a hole in her stocking. Beside him, an elderly woman in a maroon hat snored. Neil wondered if this was what Robert Frost had been thinking about.

_At least it's a road less traveled by for a Perry_, he thought. _No one else has hopped the first bus out of town before—unless there's some uncle who was disowned years ago that I don't know about. I wouldn't put that past Father._

His parents must just be waking now, preparing themselves for an argument at the breakfast table. Neil imagined his mother wrapping a bathrobe around her shoulders and shuffling into his bedroom to offer him a few words of encouragement about his father's decision. His stomach twisted to think of her shocked expression when she would catch sight of his empty bed and the single page note lying atop his schoolbooks.

He'd be caught between writing, "I'm sorry, I'll miss you both, but I can't do this," and "Fuck you all, I'll see you in hell." What resulted was something stilted and rushed, as he didn't have time to craft a proper good-bye note. He knew he needed to get to the bus station as quickly as possible, make sure he had the time to put enough distance between him and his father as possible. Neil gazed outside the window, watching that distance become greater and greater with each passing second.

Even the first step had been thrilling. Neil had stepped carefully as he moved through the house, barely daring to blink, but once he was outside he felt a huge rush of relief and excitement. The sky had cleared and the stars winked at him. He had shivered from cold, anxiety, and joy, standing in his yard for a moment. He had to restrain himself throwing himself in the snow and making snow angels. For the first time in his life he would be able to do what he wanted to do! No more med school, no more Hellton conformity, no more being controlled in every aspect of his life. He felt guilty leaving the rest of the Dead Poets Society to deal with it all, but this was an emergency; it was either leave or get shipped off to military school, neither option permitting him to see his friends.

_I'll write to them the first chance I get,_ he promised himself. _Once I find a place to stay and something to do._

That last thought made the knot in his stomach tighten, but he realized that he couldn't do anything about that problem at the moment. He shivered, burrowed further into his seat, and tried to fall asleep.

To be continued...please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thanks to kitty, Midnight Dove, lotr-and-potc-rule, Ivory Novelist, and chickensoup3 for reviewing! This means a lot, especially in these early chapters, and I appreciate you taking the time to review. Since the reaction has been positive, I'll keep going with this. I do have a question though! Does anyone know where Welton is supposed to be located? Upstate NY, New England, somewhere else? Any help would be greatly appreciated. And now, back to the story...

Mr. Nolan was angrier than Todd had ever seen him, including the time when Charlie had received a "phone call from God" during assembly. He was an ancient tower of rage behind the podium that morning. "This morning it was discovered that one of our students, Neil Perry, has gone missing," he announced to the young men of Welton Academy. "His parents woke to find him and some of his belongings gone. If anyone has any information regarding the whereabouts Neil Perry, he is obligated to come forward." Pausing for a moment, Mr. Nolan drew a sharp breath and seemed to stand straighter, if that were possible. "If it is discovered that anyone at Welton is helping to hide Neil Perry or to otherwise aid his escape, that person will be severely punished."

It might have been Todd's imagination, but he felt as though Mr. Nolan's last sentence had been spoken specifically for his benefit. Not that he should have been surprised. At the moment at least a hundred pairs of eyes were on him, watching for the slightest reaction.

He had woken up that morning with a bundle of nerves in his stomach. Neil hadn't come back from the show that evening. Had his father taken him out of Welton for disobeying him? Did he beat Neil? Had he done something to Neil, or Neil to his father? Or was Neil simply going to show up in class that morning, having argued with and finally given into the wishes of his parents? Todd didn't know what was worse.

_And I still don't know_, Todd reminded himself, _even though everyone expects me to. _Todd rose along with the other Welton students and shuffled his way to class.

"Hey, Todd. Todd!" Charlie pushed several underclassmen out of the way to catch up with him on the stairs. "Pretty crazy, huh?"

"Yeah," Todd mumbled.

"Where do you think he could be?"

"I don't know." He honestly didn't. Todd knew that he shouldn't be angry, that he should only be concerned with the welfare of his friend, but he couldn't ignore this growing edge. _Everyone expects me to know where he is—why don't I? Why couldn't he have sent word? He's my best friend._

"Do you think he could be at the cave?"

Todd shook his head. "Not in the snow."

Charlie's eyes were flashing with admiration. "To just take off like that—I didn't really expect it. His dad was being an absolute jerk, but to say screw you to the old man, run off, try to make it on your own—who's ever tried that at Welton?"

The novelty of the action was not only impressed upon Charlie. All day, the only thing boys could talk about was Neil's disappearance. The youngest students claimed that he had joined a traveling circus and was now dancing on the high wires or sticking his head inside the mouths of lions. Some swore they had seen him hitchhiking to Mexico. The most cynical said that he was probably hiding out in the town's library and would show up once he got hungry and tired. Aside from Todd and Charlie's brief conversation on the stairs, the Dead Poets Society did not speak of Neil's flight, knowing that they could be overheard by any number of teachers and finks. While they had no useful information that could be taken to Mr. Nolan, they agreed to keep as low a profile as possible for a while.

In English class that afternoon, Mr. Keating continued his lesson as though nothing had happened. Todd had half-hoped for an encouraging remark, a knowing smile, something to assure the boys that Neil was fine and everything would be all right. _Maybe he's playing it safe, too_, Todd thought as he stared at 'The Tyger'. _I bet the school and Mr. Perry have brought him into this somehow. They really should be talking to Mr. Perry and asking _him_ why he thinks his son ran away._

"...finish Blake's 'Songs of Experience' for next time," Keating was telling the class as they closed their books, "which, I'm sure, will be a new theme for all of you."

Amidst soft chuckles, Mr. Keating caught Todd's eye. "Mr. Anderson, may I have a word?" When Todd nodded and paled slightly in nervousness, Mr. Keating gave him a small smile. "I won't keep you long. Save a place for him at lunch, will you, fellas?" he asked the other Dead Poets.

Todd heard replies of "Aye, aye, Captain," as he stood beside Keating's desk.

Mr. Keating waited for the rest of the class to leave before frowning soberly. "I'm sure you're concerned about Neil's departure, as we all are. You're probably wishing everyone would stop assuming that you're the man to talk to about this, and I'm not going to badger you for details or theories or any of it. I just wanted to tell you that if you hear anything about Neil or his whereabouts, please don't be afraid to come to me. We'll work something out that's best for all of you."

"Right, Mr. Keating" Todd mumbled. While he appreciated Keating's offer of help, he was embarrassed that he didn't have any information to offer the teacher. "Thanks." He turned to go, but Keating stopped him.

"Todd." His voice dropped to a low murmur. "Another thing—watch your step for a while. You boys should all be careful about certain gatherings. You don't need any more attention from the administration than they're already giving you."

Todd nodded. "Thanks, Captain."

Keating frowned as he watched Todd gather his books and slip out of the classroom, the faint traces of the dining hall din echoed from the halls. Perhaps it had been too much, Keating thought as he shuffled through his papers. Perhaps Nolan had been right when he had said the boys were too young to learn about nonconformity. Perhaps Charlie Dalton's stunt involving the phone call from God had been a hint that he wasn't approaching this in the right way. Would the boys have been better off if he had taught them rhyme and meter and left passion out of it entirely? Then Keating thought of Neil Perry shining on the stage, Knox Overstreet beaming at the lovely young woman on his arm at the theater, and even Todd Anderson suddenly finding his voice as a poet.

A slow smile spread across his face. So this was his verse was to be.

To be continued...please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Thanks to Ivory Novelist, Andi, Greta Darken, and Phantasmagoric PsychoJello for their reviews! And thanks for the info about Welton's location. For my intents and purposes, let's say Welton is somewhere in New England—either New Hampshire or Vermont. Enjoy!

Even the fear that he would be sleeping on a park bench in the middle of December couldn't' quell Neil's excitement. He had only been to New York City once, with his parents two years before, and that was to visit an old friend of his father's. They had stayed at a moderately priced hotel and gotten steak for dinner. Neil had secretly wanted to see a Broadway show, but his father had already deemed them to be overpriced wastes of time. Now, everything was open to Neil—the shows, the poetry readings, the smoky nightclubs, the rush of taxis and the smooth sounds of jazz. Already he had passed more people than he had ever seen back home. The air was different, filled with the smells of car exhaust, hot dogs, expensive perfumes, Chinese food, garbage, leather handbags. Although his body kept reminding him that he had not slept more than an hour in the past day, he felt a sense of exhilaration greater than any he had experienced before.

His grumbling stomach led him to a small diner. Perusing the menu and then leafing through the contents of his wallet, Neil realized that he had better get a job, fast. _In a city this size, someone's gotta be hiring,_, he assured himself.

"What'll it be, kid?" the waitress, an small older woman with salt-and-pepper hair and thick black glasses.

Her question stung for a second. Kid? How young did he look? "Scrambled eggs and toast. And coffee." They were never allowed coffee at Welton. Ordering it now made him feel more confident.

"Coming right up."

She walked briskly away, shouting diner jargon to the chef. Neil extracted a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket and moved to begin writing, but he had no idea what he would say. _Dear Todd, I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was leaving; it just happened. But I'm okay so don't worry about me. _Oh, right, the guys would love that. He knew he couldn't risk sending any information right now—Nolan might be opening any mail any of the Dead Poets got, just in case._ Dear Mr. Keating, I'm finally doing what I always wanted to do. _Well, that wasn't exactly true right now. Sure, he was in New York, but he didn't have a job, a place to stay, or any real plan to speak of. He'd write an enthusiastic letter later, when he had something to be enthusiastic about. _Dear Mother, Please don't worry about me. I'm fine, but I couldn't stay in that house any longer. Please don't try to find me. _Too late for that. Neil imagined his father storming into Mr. Nolan's office, demanding that they help find his son, while his mother cried into her handkerchief in the background.

The waitress slid a plate in front of him. "Here ya go. Pay up front."

"Thanks." She was about to walk away when Neil piped up. "Oh! Sorry, but do you know any cheap places to stay around here? A hotel, hostel, something?"

She tapped her long, painted fingernails on the counter while she thought. "Well, there's a YMCA not too far from here. Go south eight blocks, then take a left on 58th street. You can't miss it—big sign out front. That's about as cheap as you'll get without sharing a room with too many cockroaches."

"Thanks." He smiled and happily dug into his breakfast. He wouldn't be out on the street tonight! Eventually he'd want to get his own place, maybe a small apartment, find a roommate or two if he could, but for now he was glad to simply have some kind of direction. _Not too bad, Neil,_ he told himself, grinning into his coffee cup.

The YMCA was an unremarkable brick building at the corner of 58th street. Had it not been for the faded sign outside and the waitress's accurate directions, Neil would have missed it completely. There were a couple of window boxes on the first floor, but whatever flowers might have grown there during the spring had died and not been cleaned out. Cigarette butts were scattered along the side of the building. Pigeons congregated by the stairs, bobbing their heads as they strutted and hoped for the crumbs of someone's sandwich. They scattered as Neil swept passed.

The front lobby was just as plain as the building. An older man with glasses stood behind a counter.

"Hi," Neil said warmly as he stepped up to the counter. "I'm looking for a room."  
"Well, you've come to the right place." Neil couldn't' tell if the man's tone was warm or veiled with sarcasm. "How long will you be here?"

"A little while. I just need a place to stay until I can find something more permanent," Neil explained.

The man pulled out a large book and quietly consulted it for a moment. "Room 5B is available—comes with a bed, a Bible, and a sink. There's a hall bathroom a couple doors down from your room."

"Sounds great." When Neil pulled out his wallet to pay for the week, he realized that he'd better get a job soon. _Looks like it'll be dry cereal and tap water for a little while,_ he told himself as he followed the man up a flight of stairs.

"My name's Jeffery McGregor," the man said as he led Neil up. "Most people just call me McGregor. I run this place. I have simple rules—no overnight visitors, no pets, no loud music or otherwise causing a disturbance, pay for your room on time, no starting trouble with the others. If you destroy YMCA property, you pay for it. If you break one of these, I'll give you a warning or ask you to leave, depending on the situation. Think you can handle that?"

Neil, used to the strict rules of Welton, nodded good-naturedly. "I don't think that'll be a problem."

"Good." McGregor was breathing heavily now that they had made it to the fifth floor. "Hope you can handle the walk up." In front of 5B, he extracted a key from his pocket and struggled with the doorknob. "This one's a little tricky—you've gotta turn the key to the left while holding the knob and then turning the knob to the right, pulling on it a little before you push."

He shoved the door open to reveal a particularly Spartan room. _Well, McGregor sure didn't lie about the room,_ Neil thought as he took in the bed, sink, and nightstand complete with Bible. The walls were a dingy off-white (they might have been white once, or so Neil guessed) and the carpet was a burnt orange. The room smelled faintly of mildew and moth balls.

"Enjoy." McGregor allowed Neil to step inside the room and was about to march away when he said, "Hey, kid, I forgot—what's your name?"  
Neil opened his mouth to answer, and then realized that his parents might be looking for him in the city. Instantly he thought of the previous night when, for a moment, he had been someone different. "Robin. Robin Goodfellow," he answered, unable to contain a grin.

"Well, Rob, let me know if you need anything." With that, McGregor disappeared down the hall.

The room was unimpressive, to be sure, but after sharing a plain room at Welton, Neil felt both liberated and intimidated—his own room in New York City. He'd made it this far, and surely this would be a sign of good things to come.

To be continued…please review!


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Sorry this has taken so long. This isn't a particularly long chapter, but hopefully another should be coming soon. Thanks to Ivory Novelist, Greta Darken, and drivelikebandits for their reviews! I really appreciate them. Hope you enjoy this part!

Recently, dinners at the Perry house contained onions. Generally Mrs. Perry wasn't a fan of the vegetable—they smelled up the kitchen and she preferred other flavors. But lately Mrs. Perry had found herself drawn to the neat stack of onions at the market. At home, she would peel back the skin and slice more than necessary, throwing the extra into the garbage when she realized that she had too many for a soup or salad. She was not a wasteful person by nature; having lived through the Depression, she knew what a sin it was to throw out perfectly good food. Even now, her family wasn't the richest in the area. They had had to make several sacrifices to make sure their son had the best advantages they could give him. Yet Mrs. Perry could not stop herself from purchasing these unnecessary vegetables. They gave her an excuse to cry in the kitchen, tears welling up in her eyes and filling her throat as she chopped and diced.

She was used to not having Neil at home. He had been at boarding school since he was twelve, and since then she had gotten used to not seeing her son on a daily basis. The quiet shouldn't have upset her so. Somehow this was different. Now he was like a ghost, whispers of their argument floating through the air and distracting her from her chores. She would find herself stopping over a load of laundry and clutch a button-down shirt for several minutes, imagining what he might be wearing at that moment, if he was cold. The night after they discovered Neil had gone, she went through his clothes to see what he had taken. He had been a neat and conservative packer, only taking what was necessary—a couple of shirts, sweaters, pants, his warm coat. At the time she was oddly relieved. _He has to be somewhere nearby, he can't have gone somewhere warm with that coat._ Then she considered that he might sell the coat during his journey and buy clothes more suited for balmy weather. She had cried above his open sock drawer as she imagined her son shedding his winter coat, moving further and further away from her.

Mr. Perry did not say much on the subject. He had contacted the authorities, met with Dr. Nolan, and called the parents of Neil's friends for any information, but at home he found himself unable to bring up the topic of their son. For the most part, he would eat silently, pretend to read the newspaper, and wordlessly fall into bed. That evening, Mrs. Perry noticed something different about his manner when he came through the front door. He fumbled with his coat and briefcase, as though not knowing how to approach his wife.

She couldn't contain herself. "He's dead, isn't he?" The words tore out of her and her hand unconsciously went to her throat.

"No, no, nothing like that," he assured her. "I did talk with the police today and…they haven't been able to find anything. He's just…out there."

There was a dangerous world out there. They had spent Neil's live trying to protect him from all of that. They had chosen Welton Academy (even though it meant they would never own expensive cars or take impressive vacations) because it was a school that would get Neil a good job as a doctor. They never wanted him to know the hardships they had faced at his age. And now he had willingly put himself out there, with almost nothing to his name. At least he wasn't dead—or at least, they hadn't found that he was dead. He could be dead. He could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere, and no one would know it.

As Mrs. Perry thought of this, she began to cry silently over her dinner. Mr. Perry, glancing up from his pot roast, noticed and sighed.

"Marianne," he said. "Marianne, please."

Mrs. Perry sniffled and tried to choke back her tears, but this only made her cry harder.

"It's going to be all right. He can't have gotten far—he hasn't saved up that much money and he's never lived on his own."

"He doesn't know how to live out there," Mrs. Perry said through tears.

"Exactly. He doesn't know what he's up against and he'll come home soon. He's just angry—it's a way to get back at us. Once he realizes he can't handle the real world, he'll come home."

"But what if he doesn't?" Mrs. Perry was not accustomed to arguing with her husband, but she couldn't get over the image of her only child dead and alone. "What if he never comes back?"

"He will—"

"What if he gets killed? Maybe we were too hard on him."

"Marianne—"

"It was only a play, George."  
"He disobeyed us, Marianne."

"He's a good boy," she insisted. "He wouldn't just disobey us, or just run away. We should have asked him what was wrong—"

"Nothing was wrong! That teacher put this ridiculous acting business into his head, and he needed to be set back on the path. You're not seriously thinking that we should have let him be in that play?"

Mrs. Perry picked up her plate and walked to the sink. "I don't know. I don't know. I just want my son back."

She walked out of the kitchen without looking at her husband. Mr. Perry could not look up from his plate as he listened to the sound of his wife's footsteps retreating.

To be continued…please review!


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